No Excuses by Nikky Kaye
Maddie's rules for attending a work retreat:
1 Pack the right clothes. Especially extra underwear.
2 Don’t try to school your insanely hot boss on acceptable trust exercises.
3 Be prepared for the extracurricular ropes course.
4 Make sure there is a safety net when you fall, because you will fall hard
Gage doesn’t appreciate how hard it is to be his right hand woman—especially when I’m spending so much time with my own right hand, fantasizing about him. My demanding, control freak boss is testing all my limits, and I don’t know how long I can stay professional.
No Excuses is a hot, full-length contemporary romance, featuring blindfolds, rope play, food fights, and sexy architectural features like wainscoting. As in all Nikky Kaye books, cheating is not allowed, but some funny stuff and a HEA are non-negotiable.
He moved close to me, our bodies nearly touching. I kept my eyes on his chest as he gently draped one of the ties around me, cool and soft on the nape of my neck. The tiny hairs under my ears stood up at the feel of the silk sliding across my skin. Every sense I had was on high alert.
He smelled like fresh laundry, and a trace of something else lingered on his skin. It was almost like the scent of paper, or an overworked photocopier. I felt the heat from his hands close to my throat, and the hairs on his forearms tickled my collarbone for an infinitesimal moment.
My attention remained focused on the buttons of his shirt. I was very worried that if I met his gaze, my hyper awareness of him would shine out of my eyes like a flashlight.
“We’ll just leave this here for now,” he murmured, flicking one end of the tie against the underside of my chin. “Are you ready?”
Not even remotely.
I nodded mutely, but I let out a little gasp when his fingers touched my chin and tilted my face up. It was so tempting to screw my eyes shut, like a little girl trying to pretend that something didn’t exist if she couldn’t see it. I’d had plenty of practice with that before.
But he wouldn’t let me retreat. He looked at me directly and without guile, as usual. What was a little different this time, however, was the way his eyes darkened into stormy seas.
“Trust me.” His simple words wormed into my heart as his warm breath landed on my lips.
My voice cracked as I said, “Mister Gage.” It wasn’t an answer or a question, a protest or a plea. I honestly didn’t know what I wanted to say, and whatever was building in me halted as he lifted the other piece of fabric to my eyes.
He smoothed his thumbs across the strip of silk over my eyes, spreading out from the bridge of my nose to my temples. The tie was held firm between his fingers—those nimble fingers that paused in my hair briefly before they met again at the back of my head.
“Is that too tight?” he asked as he pulled the half-knot.
The sound of the silk rubbing against itself whispered in my ear. I shook my head. His hands clutched my hair and held me still.
“I’m not done.” His fingers tangled in my hair as he finished tying, pulling a few strands just enough to make me suck in a breath.
He froze. “Did I hurt you?”
“No.” My nipples hardened into tight buds as his breath washed over my forehead. “I, uh, no,” I repeated.
Gage had never touched me this much in the whole time I’d been working with him. Just the memory of his hands in my hair was enough to make me wobbly in the knees.
He dragged his thumbs across my covered eyes again, like a parent wiping away their child’s tears. Tracing his index fingers lightly over my eyebrows, he made an indistinct but satisfied noise.
“I can’t see anything,” I complained.
I was so blind that I flinched when his mouth dipped to my ear. “Good,” he chuckled.
Reflexively I swayed toward him, like a flower toward the sun. He pressed his thumbs gently into my cheekbones, then his fingertips left a trail of fire down my jaw and neck. On the journey he slipped the other tie from where it dangled around my neck, and pressed it into my trembling hands.
“Tie me up,” he ordered in a low voice.
Yeah, those were words I definitely never expected to hear from my boss’s mouth.
He smelled like fresh laundry, and a trace of something else lingered on his skin. It was almost like the scent of paper, or an overworked photocopier. I felt the heat from his hands close to my throat, and the hairs on his forearms tickled my collarbone for an infinitesimal moment.
My attention remained focused on the buttons of his shirt. I was very worried that if I met his gaze, my hyper awareness of him would shine out of my eyes like a flashlight.
“We’ll just leave this here for now,” he murmured, flicking one end of the tie against the underside of my chin. “Are you ready?”
Not even remotely.
I nodded mutely, but I let out a little gasp when his fingers touched my chin and tilted my face up. It was so tempting to screw my eyes shut, like a little girl trying to pretend that something didn’t exist if she couldn’t see it. I’d had plenty of practice with that before.
But he wouldn’t let me retreat. He looked at me directly and without guile, as usual. What was a little different this time, however, was the way his eyes darkened into stormy seas.
“Trust me.” His simple words wormed into my heart as his warm breath landed on my lips.
My voice cracked as I said, “Mister Gage.” It wasn’t an answer or a question, a protest or a plea. I honestly didn’t know what I wanted to say, and whatever was building in me halted as he lifted the other piece of fabric to my eyes.
He smoothed his thumbs across the strip of silk over my eyes, spreading out from the bridge of my nose to my temples. The tie was held firm between his fingers—those nimble fingers that paused in my hair briefly before they met again at the back of my head.
“Is that too tight?” he asked as he pulled the half-knot.
The sound of the silk rubbing against itself whispered in my ear. I shook my head. His hands clutched my hair and held me still.
“I’m not done.” His fingers tangled in my hair as he finished tying, pulling a few strands just enough to make me suck in a breath.
He froze. “Did I hurt you?”
“No.” My nipples hardened into tight buds as his breath washed over my forehead. “I, uh, no,” I repeated.
Gage had never touched me this much in the whole time I’d been working with him. Just the memory of his hands in my hair was enough to make me wobbly in the knees.
He dragged his thumbs across my covered eyes again, like a parent wiping away their child’s tears. Tracing his index fingers lightly over my eyebrows, he made an indistinct but satisfied noise.
“I can’t see anything,” I complained.
I was so blind that I flinched when his mouth dipped to my ear. “Good,” he chuckled.
Reflexively I swayed toward him, like a flower toward the sun. He pressed his thumbs gently into my cheekbones, then his fingertips left a trail of fire down my jaw and neck. On the journey he slipped the other tie from where it dangled around my neck, and pressed it into my trembling hands.
“Tie me up,” he ordered in a low voice.
Yeah, those were words I definitely never expected to hear from my boss’s mouth.
Nikky Kaye is almost my real name. I’m a former Film professor who likes more than her movies to be black and white. Sadly, the world doesn’t work that way. I have worked with movie stars, Ivy League brainiacs, and the United Nations—all of which means that I’m familiar with ass-kissing, power struggles, greed and faking it. In my spare time I parent 5 year-old twin boys, serve on the board of an independent cinema, and run a medical consulting company.
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